Sweet Stuff
by DemonicPiano
Summary: Alfred has a curse. It is not so bad, as far curses go, but that doesn't stop it from being annoying.


Alfred F. Jones has a curse. However, it is not one of those awful things that cause mass death and destruction with a stray touch, or if he sneezes, a nearby volcano explodes, raining magma and even more potential death on people's heads! Unfortunately, for the poor victim, every time he lifts his shirt, candy falls out. The more he lifts the fabric, the more candy falls onto the floor.

Wait a moment, is that _not_ a good thing? No! It is not! For the first twelve times this occurrence suddenly began, it _was_ awesome. Free candy, without stepping out of the house? It was a dream come true! Yet dreams can easily become sickeningly sweet. One day, the dearly beloved Alfred turned on his shower after a hefty work out. He had to burn those carbs from the sudden increase of candy intake somehow.

Anyway, the water was running, and all that waited was for him to shed his clothes and hop in. He lifted his shirt over his head, and several small objects hit the tiled floors. Not bad at all. "Cool! A Silky Way!" Alfred had something nice to look forward to after his shower. He stepped over the sweets that now littered his bathroom floor, saving them for a nice, post workout snack.

With the shower, his mind wandered to other things. He was about to step out of the tub, and grab a towel, but his heel crushed something plastic. "Holy sh-" Alfred grunted as his foot slid beneath him, and took the rest of himself with it. He came crashing to the bare floors on his bare butt like a sack of Halloween candy. His downfall was smooth, just like his favorite Silky Ways.

That instance may have not been entirely _bad,_ so to say, but the malfunctions add up! Worse, when he was in bed with another, he forgotten about his mild curse in the moment. He announced to the body below him, "Are you ready for some awesome, sweet lovin'?!"

"I am not here to dance," his company lightly snorted. "You are all talk and not enough show, hot stuff."

"Just wait and see!" Alfred tried to be seductive, and grabbed for his shirt to peel it off his back. Of course, then came the waterfall of sweets tumbling onto both sides of the bed. He gasped, and shoved his shirt back to its normal position. "Shit!"

His company widened their eyes at the onslaught of candy. "Is that...Alfred, why do you have chocolates stuffed up your shirt?"

Alfred dove after a Sniggle, and ripped the wrapper open. "I don't stuff them up there. They just...come out. Are we going do to this?"

"Are we?" His bedmate echoed, and reached to lift his shirt from his stomach. A few pieces bounced to the mattress. They pulled the fabric back down for a moment, only to raise it again, gazing at more candy slipping from him. "You don't feel that?"

"Hey, let's not worry about that," Alfred said, still munching on the sweets. He did a double take, "Whoa, look at that!" He snatched a piece that his company had curiously turned over in their hand. "A freakin' Happy Rancher?! Do you know how often I get these?!"

"No. How often?" They asked, not sounding like they care for the answer as much as the phenomenon of candy spawning from thin air.

"I don't know a lot?" Alfred swiped the discarded wrappers off his bed, and wiggled excitedly. "Are you ready?"

"Hm," his bedmate tugged at his shirt, causing another mess. "No thanks," they resigned, turning away from him on their side. "I lost whatever appetite I had."

"What? Oh, come on!" Alfred wound up lifting and pulling down his shirt throughout the night to feast on the candy to cover his frustration of his partner's dismissal. He had not noticed their stare from the corner of their eye, watching him sneak a hand up his shirt and pull out wrapper after wrapper.

It was their lost, and his gain. A great gain, apparently, as Alfred packed on weight. He did not understand how; he would pump so much iron at the gym to make five body builders cry! Those within his social circle whispered and glanced to him when they believed he would not notice, but he pretended not to, anyway. Sometime, he was confronted by two of his well known acquaintances, and they took it to themselves to grab him, and lift his shirt up to poke at his stomach, mocking the slight winter blubber.

As always, the candy took its usual opportunity to make its appearance, and they were hushed with the sudden arrival of sweets. "Is...is that candy?"

The other laughed, "You were hoarding candy in your shirt! I would not expect less from a fat American!"

"I was not hoarding it!" Alfred protested, trying to compose his dignity by shoving his shirt back down. Another set of grabby hands pulled the fabric back up, raining more sweets onto the floor. "Hey, stop it! That's not cool, dudes!"

"Neither is hiding all this candy from us!"

"I'm not hiding it! It just...comes out!"

Soon enough, everyone caught on about his supposed 'gift'. They would jump out at random intervals whenever their sweet tooth called for substance, and rip up Alfred's shirt. Much to his surprise, embarrassment, and sudden chilliness of being randomly stripped half naked, he became known as the Living Candy Dispenser.

Even his own brother interrupted his important rant about boats to oh so politely ask, "Hey, um, you have that thing where you know...candy comes out, right? If it isn't too much trouble, can you spare some? I would go to the vending machine, but I don't have any change on me."

So, with great effort, Alfred lifted his shirt halfway, and left his brother to kneel on the floor for the candy with a quiet thanks. He thought of going to a doctor, and even a scientist for his condition, but would they really do anything effective? The last thing he need was more publicity, even if it was nurses getting called into the room to giggle at him.

Alfred had contemplated a lot, wondering how to end this sweet terror. The attention was like his curse, sweet at first, but now caused more aches than it was worth. He would stay up late, slaving over diagrams he sketched, and even tossed a few ideas of inventions to zap any hands that came close to his shirt, but scrapped that, because that would include his own fingers being shocked, too. In the end, his final solution to his problem was to get rid of all his tops, and go shirtless until further notice.


End file.
